


Festivity in Twenty-Five Heartbeats

by vehlr



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Festive Shenanigans in EVERY AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-04 20:03:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 14,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5346815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My response to the 25 Days of Christmas OTP Challenge. Cassandra and Varric in every world, together for the season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 1st: Star (Worth Keeping AU)

He never really _enjoyed_ Christmas until he met her. And then she died, and… it was never the same.

The first year is awful - the loss is still fresh for him, and he spends most of December in a drunken stupor, with only the stars to judge him.

The second year is terrible - he drinks less, but remembers more, and comes to hate the flashing lights and wellwishers that sing in front of the apartment block every day. The stars guide him back every time he stalks away, bringing him home.

The third year…

He sits on the roof of the block, staring up at the stars.

“Merry Christmas, Seeker.”

He smiles slightly as they twinkle.

* * *

“C’mon. New tradition.”

She huffs as she pulls on her boots. “You are taking me _outside_. I think this tradition is already terrible.”

He grins, winding a scarf around his neck. “Yeah, well, it’s _mine_. Your tradition tomorrow. That’s how we do this, remember?”

“I propose a new tradition of traditions -”

“Just hurry up and put your damned mittens on.”

She huffs again, hauling herself up and tugging them into her hands as he leads her up the roof.

The air is crisp and brisk, though mercifully calm, and the thin layer of clouds is already drifting on.

She stamps her feet, arms folded tightly around herself. “ _Varric_. What are we doing up here?”

“Wait a second, alright? The clouds’ll move, and then…”

“ _Oh_.”

He looks up to see her awed, eyes wide as she gazes up at the stars above.

“They’re beautiful.”

“They’re you.” He swallows. “Well. They _were_ you, when I thought you were dead.”

“Oh.”

“And Myra, and Daisy, and Hero. And I… talked to you all, because I didn’t have a family to spend Christmas with anymore.” He smiles as he looks up. “You watched over me, like always.”

She is crying, the tears bright in the moonlight, but she smiles anyway. “That is a good tradition,” she whispers.

And he is glad - that she understands, that she does not insist on going back indoors because she is _here_ now, that she knows this is _bigger_ than that. And he pulls on her arm and makes her sit in the rickety lawn chair, and sits in her lap and wraps her arms around his waist.

Her lips graze the shell of his ear, and he smiles as his head rests against hers.

“Merry Christmas, Seeker.”

“Merry Christmas, Varric.”


	2. December 2nd: Hot Chocolate (The Seeker AU)

The first Satinalia he shares with the Seeker is a quiet affair. After all, they are barely friends, and Satinalia is a time for family. Varric is running out of family, though, and with Hawke out of town on business, he will have to make do with the woman sat in front of the fire.

“Hey.” His hand is light on her shoulder, but for once she does not jump.

“Varric, did you believe in Papa Satinalia as a child?” she asks quietly.

He settles in the chair next to her, shrugging. “Not really a dwarven thing. Well, unless you count it as a profession.”

She smiles slightly. “I suppose.”

“Did the little Seeker believe in the jolly man with presents?” he teases.

“For a time, I suppose I must have. I remember… my brother, Anthony, he told me when I was of an age, that it was all just another story. I was very angry with him.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“Long time ago,” she murmurs, eyes fixed on the flames. “He is gone now. They are all gone.”

He reaches for her hand, squeezing her fingers gently. She is still surprisingly cool to the touch. “Not all.”

She looks up, and for once, she smiles. “Not all,” she agrees.

“Tell you what I _did_ believe in, though.” He closes his eyes, grinning. “Food. _Mountains_ of it - meat and potatoes and plates piled high with hearty pastries and sweetmeats and -”

She scoffs. “You Marchers are all the same. Any excuse for a feast.” She pulls away, getting up, and he calls after her as she heads towards the kitchen.

“It’s a good one, admit it!”

He stays by the warmth of the fire, the grin fading as his thoughts inevitably turn to Bartrand. It would be the first Satinalia without his annual visit to the home, he realises. As much as Bartrand had been gone for a long time… there is something quite final about death that strikes at his heart.

A warm mug is brandished in front of him, stirring him from the dark.

“Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Our feast.” Cassandra falls back into her chair, hands curled around her own mug. “We would fast, during the advent of Andraste’s awakening. Thirty days of sorrow - nobody really does that outside of Nevarra these days, but my uncle was deeply religious. We would fast, and then on the day itself we would take bread and milk in the morning, and pray until the late evening. And then our governess would bring us each this drink, a secret drink that my uncle did not know about. She said even disgraced Pentaghasts deserved something good.”

He sniffs, smiling at the sweet and spicy odour. “Is this -”

“They call it cocoa, I think, in Par Vollen.” She takes a deep breath, and something in her posture relaxes in a way Varric has never seen. She is -

She is _happy_ , he realises, despite the sadness the memories bring.

He reaches for her hand once more, and finds it warm.


	3. December 3rd: Snow (First of Her Name AU)

She never thought she would miss the snow, of all things.

Nevarra rains. The rain never seems to stop, but the temperature does not drop far enough for the snow to fall, and so Cassandra finds herself staring out into the rain with a cloud over her heart.

“Seeker?”

At Varric’s voice she turns, smiling gently. “You are back early.”

He tugs off his coat - dry, of course, he would not have been allowed ten feet without someone holding cover over him - and shrugs. “Viscount Cavin was of a similar mind. It didn't take long to come to an agreement.” His gloves follow his coat. “Bran might wish he weren't in charge, but he's very good at doing right by Kirkwall.”

“Good.”

“Thanks for letting me - hey, you alright? You look a little… sad.” He kicks off his boots and pads over to meet her, one hand coming up to rest on the slight curve of her stomach where their future heir - their child - grew.

Her gaze turns back to the rain. “I suppose I am,” she admits. “I was watching the rain and I rather hoped for snow.”

“Snow?”

“Such a silly thing to miss.”

He sighs, pressing a kiss against her shoulder. “So go visit. The Inquisitor would love to see you.”

“I have state functions -”

“You could pass the responsibility on.”

She laughs. “Only to you, my love.”

He smiles up at her. “So do it. Take a week or two off, go see our friends. I can hold the fort here.”

Staring at him, she frowns. “Without you?”

“You miss the _snow_ , Cassandra. You miss shouting at recruits and sharing wine with Sparkler and looking after Curly and the damned snow.” His hand is warm in hers. “You miss them, and that's to be expected. You weren't exactly given a choice about leaving.”

“I would miss you,” she murmurs. “I would miss you terribly.”

He laughs. “Good. Gives you a reason to come home.”

“ _Oh_ -”

Her hand tightens around his.

“Cassandra - oh, no, please don't cry -”

“It is nothing,” she laughs, wiping at her tears. “I am just… _blessed_ , to have such a wonderful man to come home to.”

He pulls her in close, leaning up to kiss her softly. “Wife,” he murmurs, “go see the snow. Do something for yourself for once.”

She nods, and the smile stays on her lips.


	4. December 4th: Candy Canes (silver in twilight AU)

She does not plan her informal leave from the Seekers, but when the Lady Seeker Moira complains it is the worst Satinalia gift ever, Cassandra realises it is the right time. The nights were colder now, in the mountains - almost unbearably so. Almost. Time to move on.

And besides, she considers as she packs her meager things, she was getting too old to be sleeping on the floor. She needed a bed, a real bed. Preferably one with a dwarf for a bed-warmer.

That thought makes her smile.

What had begun months ago in the gardens of Halamshiral had burned bright despite the distance, and though she knew it would be difficult to adjust to a more sedentary lifestyle, she did not doubt that she would enjoy being at Varric’s side. He had written almost weekly, sometimes lurid descriptions of what he would do to her, sometimes softer tales of his life in Kirkwall, but always honest and open in his affections.

And she had _missed_ him, an ache in her heart that had nothing to do with advancing years.

And so she packs.

* * *

 

Varric had gotten into the habit, whilst still Viscount, of checking up on people - arguably a habit he had always had, but the groups were just larger now. Still, with little else to do and no inspiration to write today, he decides the habit is well worth continuing.

_Middle of the week_ , he thinks. _Must be the kids’ turn_. And he wraps up well, the sharp winds of Kirkwall cutting a little deeper than they used to. Once upon a time he would have bared his chest and damn the elements, but these days the silvery-grey hairs stay well-hidden underneath a coat and a scarf as he tromps through Hightown and down the city towards the orphanage.

It had been Rivaini of all people who had funded the building’s redevelopment - Rivaini who eschewed the idea of a home to come back to, Rivaini who had made the sea her hearth and travelled on its whims, Rivaini who had dumped the gold on his desk and had never come back to port since.

_They're kids, Varric. They deserve a chance. It's what Hawke would have -_

He smiles as the building comes into view, a veritable swarm of youngsters playing in the street outside. Belatedly, he realises he should have brought them something - they were all the more amenable when bribed with sweet treats - but as he draws closer he spots the strange striped candies in their hands. He had seen them only once before, sold by a vendor in Val Royeaux. Cassandra had been oddly taken with them, and he had daydreamed about peppermint kisses for weeks.

“Candy canes?” he murmurs under his breath. “Who brought you those?”

A small girl, all pigtails and bright red nose and missing teeth, tugs on his sleeve. “The lady inside! She said everyone should try them once!”

The words pull at his memory, but it could not be - no, surely she would have _said_ -

He smiles down at the girl, ruffling her fringe before heading towards the door. Surely, the world was not kind enough, surely.

But he has been wrong before. Sure enough, in the middle of the room the Seeker sits, laughing as she shares out her treats, broad smiles and sticky fingers all around her, and his heart aches to see her.

“Varric!” She beams up at him, the telltale colours of the candies on her lips.

He kneels next to her, one hand gripping her shirt as his lips meet hers to a chorus of disgusted groans from the children, but Varric pays them no mind. Peppermint kisses and a Seeker in time for Satinalia… Maker, but he was a lucky old sod.


	5. December 5th: Christmas Tree (Quietening the Song AU)

The moon shines through the hole in the ceiling, and Varric watches the light play across the crystals, trying to remember any other colour than red. He wonders what the dawn will bring - as if there might be anything other than pain, for either of them.

She had begun to hear the song. It pains him to think of her hearing her brother, hearing Justinia, hearing Galyan, perhaps even her parents. Cassandra had been loved, and their songs would be like torture.

Not like his. His songs were laments of what he might have been. He could bear that.

“Varric?”

Without moving his head, he reaches out for Cassandra’s hand. “It’s late,” he murmurs. “They’ll be here in a few hours. You should rest.”

“Can you see the tree?”

He frowns. “What?”

With a shuffle, she moves into the crook of his body, the soft crunch of her skin audible in the silent cell. “The tree.” She raises her free hand, pointing to the wall where the moonlight hits. “There, the branches. The base. The bright decorations -”

He smiles. “A Satinalia tree.”

And he can see it now, the way the light plays against the shadows on the wall, the reflections splintering and bouncing off one another, and all landing in a strange mockery of the traditional decoration. He had to admit, he would never have made the connection - he had all but forgotten that the holiday even existed. Time had little meaning anymore. Night and day were barely distinguishable.

But she had reminded him of some small joy, and that was no mean feat here.

“Antiva started it,” she says quietly. “Decorating trees for the season. They thought the advent of sorrow was depressing.”

“It _is_ ,” he points out, and is rewarded with a weak chuckle.

“Perhaps. We always observed it, in Nevarra. My uncle was strict about it.”

“Did you fast?”

“Mm.”

“Your uncle was shit. Kids shouldn’t be made to fast.” He swallows. “Kids shouldn’t _starve_.” He barely remembers the meagre meals of his childhood, but he knows even now that something had been very wrong.

Not that things were better now, of course. What was food to a prison filled with poisoned inmates?

She makes a noncommittal noise. “It is important to remember the sacrifices of Andraste.”

“Yeah.” He sighs. “Pretty sure we’ve done our thirty days of sorrow.”

She swallows, and he pulls her closer, his lips scraping against her cheek.

“Happy Satinalia, Seeker.”


	6. December 6th: Angel (This Goes Up To Eleven AU)

Rivaini suggests a party, and Varric begrudgingly agrees.

After all, he considers, mooching around the city, he _was_ taking Cassandra away for their first Christmas together - just him and her and the falling snow as they got reacquainted with each other’s bodies in front of a roaring fire in a log cabin. Romantic as shit, he thinks with a sly grin. She was going to love it when she realised.

Still, a fancy dress party was a little cliche for him. He dressed up enough as part of his persona on-stage, and was not a huge fan of the idea of doing it for an evening of revelry. He usually attended them as himself, but Cassandra had threatened him with the couch if he pulled that here. He smiles at the thought of her going all-out on a costume - like everything else in her life, she approached the idea at great speed and force.

Still, he considers, stopping at a stationery store, he was very good at bending rules...

* * *

 

The party is, of course, a success.

Rivaini and Daisy are, as ever, the belles of the ball in their matching 20s inspired outfits - a mobster and her flapper. And even Broody, who had reputedly spiked the punch already, bore a pair of antlers. Varric smirks as a pair of elves - Santa’s assistants, not the usual sort - wander past, curious as to where his lover was. It takes him twenty minutes to find her, tucked away in a corner talking to a work colleague - Aveline, he recalls, a fierce-looking woman currently dressed like a snowman.

His jaw drops.

In a short white dress and fluffy little wings, Cassandra could have passed as one of the seraphim… but for the six-inch heels and the outrageous amount of leg on show. The halo of gold woven into her braid looks like it could be natural, and as she laughs at Aveline’s comment her face lights up - and _oh_ , Varric’s heart falls in love all over again.

He sidles over as Aveline takes her leave, smirk wide.

She smiles. “What?”

“Nothing. Just think it’s funny.”

“What is funny about this?”

“That you’re dressed as an angel,” he says in a low voice, one finger trailing down her arm, “and yet you’re so _very_ good at sinning…”

She blushes, but leans down to murmur in his ear. “Perhaps later I could take you to Heaven.” Her teeth drag over his earlobe and he groans as she pulls away.

“Now.”

“Varric -”

He grabs her wrist, pulling her towards the bedroom that was doubling as a coatroom. “ _Now_ , Seeker,” he insists, “I need to fuck you right now.”

“Wait!” She stops him, folding her arms. “ _You_ did not dress up!”

He rolls his eyes, pulling back his shirt to reveal the name sticker on his chest: _Hello, my name is GOD._

“Oh, Varric, come _on_ -” But she is smiling, and he grins as he reaches out to pull her in close. He knows he has won this round.

“You’re an angel, Seeker. How about we work on your closeness to your God…”


	7. December 7th: Pyjamas (Pent Up AU)

“Call me,” he murmurs, writing his number on the back of her hand as she presses kisses against his neck, “and we’ll do dinner. For real.”

She murmurs assent, and he drops the pen in favour of pressing her up against the door and making her cry out his name again, before she slips away into the cold morning.

She calls him, which is something of a surprise.

* * *

 

The second time she stays over, they skip dinner. Again. But he offers her something to sleep in. The laugh is gorgeous, unrestrained.

“Thank you, but I will be fine.”

“Really? It’s getting cold.”

“Then you will have to do a better job of warming me up,” she murmurs, fingers trailing up his arm. He groans, grabbing her by the waist and throwing her to the bed, and puts on a hell of a show to keep the bed warm.

She vanishes early in the morning, and leaves her number. _Dinner next time? x_

* * *

 

The third time she stays over, things are… different. Hawke had pressed him for details, and been shocked at the lack of conversation. _You don’t even know her? Buddy, you’re not that kind of guy._

He rather thinks Leliana had the same reaction when he opens his door to find Cassandra buttoned up and quiet.

“Did, uh… did your friend -”

“I suppose Hawke said something similar.”

He nods, and they stand in the doorway in awkward silence for a long moment.

“You… you always wear your shirts like that,” she says finally, gesturing to the lack of buttons that revealed his chest. “Always. Why?”

He shrugs. “People like the chest hair.”

“That is ridic-”

“I don’t _know_. I’m not a shrink. Why do _you_ have your coat all buttoned up?”

“I -”

“Because if you’re so unapproachable like you suggest, then who the hell did I meet in the toilets of the club downstairs?”

She lets out a snort. “Oh, and who was the timid dwarf who could not put into words how nervous I made him?”

He folds his arms, puffing out his chest slightly. “I was having a bad day -”

“So was last time a bad day too? Is this all we are?” She shoves her hands in her pockets, a strange look on her face. “I… I do not have the time for bad days.”

He considers her for a long moment, before his shoulders sag. “Me neither.”

“Well. Then perhaps -”

“I wear pyjamas,” he says suddenly. “I wear pyjamas with buttons all the way up.”

She stares at him. “What?”

“I wear pyjamas with buttons and I do them all up, and I _like_ it. I _like_ being covered up. It makes… it makes me feel safe.” It is a strange thing to admit aloud at all, never mind to her. But as his ears burn with embarrassment, he watches her shift her weight from foot to foot.

“I… I sleep naked.” The words come out in a rush. “It is freeing, and -”

“And you don’t get to feel like that often,” he offers, and she shakes her head. “I get that.”

“Why are we -”

“I’m not always the brash, confident one. And you’re not always the buttoned-up one.” He takes a deep breath. “And that doesn’t have to mean it’s a _bad day_. It just means… we bring out something different in each other. That’s not bad at all.”

She bites her lip as she thinks on his words, and he tilts his head as he looks up, one hand held out in front of him.

“I’m Varric,” he offers. “Would you like to come in for dinner?”

She smiles, shaking his hand gently. “I am Cassandra,” she replies, “and I would like that very much.”


	8. December 8th: Tinsel (Doctor Pentaghast AU)

Varric is tired of hospital food. Thankfully, Daisy is on hand to save the day.

“Is this supposed to be _bread?_ ” she asks delicately, picking at the tray.

“No idea.” He shoves another forkful of chili into his mouth. “Mmmf. Mmhmmhm.”

“I love you too,” she smiles, leaning over to kiss his brow. “Is Cassandra going to stop by today?”

He shrugs, swallowing. “Maybe. I, ah… I don’t see her so much.”

“But you’re in the hospital she works in. And you’re together.”

“Mm.”

Merrill frowns. “You _are_ together, aren’t you?”

He swallows. “I guess. Doesn’t feel like it, these days.”

Her wide eyes are piercing. “What happened?”

Another shrug. “I got sick.” There is a bitter tone to his voice, and he stops himself, sighing and putting the chili down. “No, that’s not fair. She… struggles, I think. I mean, it’s not like they could just give me some pills and send me on my way.”

“But she’s a doctor.”

“So she’s used to being able to help. And this… she couldn’t help with.”

“But you’re better now.” She reaches out to squeeze his hand, smiling. “You’re going home soon. She must be happy about that. Just in time for the holidays.”

He winces. Her smile drops.

“You haven’t _told_ her?”

“She’s never here to tell. And I figured maybe she already knows and she… just doesn’t want to come home with me. Maybe this is just us giving up.”

“Oh, _Varric_.”

“It wouldn’t be hard. We don’t live together, and -”

“You are wrong.”

He swallows, looking up to the figure in the doorway. Cassandra looks tired, worn down. He supposes she must have been pulling extra shifts, this close to the holidays. But it is the hurt look in her eyes that does him in.

“Doc, I -”

“I thought perhaps you might… well. Silly, I suppose, if you are leaving soon.” And she holds up the tinsel and lights in her hands.

Merrill slides off the bed, taking her leave with enviable speed.

“You are wrong,” she says again, quieter as she perches on the edge of his bed. “It _would_ be hard. It would be harder than seeing you in this bed every night when you sleep. It would be harder than coming to visit when you are awake. It would be the hardest thing in the world to never see you again.” She takes a sharp breath. “I cannot face that possibility again.”

“I’m sorry. I just… I _missed_ you, Doc.”

“And I have missed you, and I am sorry for being so distant. You are right. I struggle with my work becoming my life. There is a reason I prefer to work in the emergency department over the wards. Patients do not stay. You do not become so… attached.” And then she smiles, a weak thing. “I am glad you will be going home.”

He reaches for her hand, fingers crunching against the tinsel. “Come with me. Come home with me. Let’s be normal again.”

“Oh, Varric.” She looks away as the tears start to fall. “We have spent more of our life together in these walls than outside. I do not know what normal is for us anymore.”

He swallows. “I love you.”

“And I love you. Always.” She brushes at her face, before looking back at him. “I would like to - when you _do_ go home, I mean. I would like to be there with you.”

“Good.” He smiles, squeezing her hand. “Gonna wheel me out of here personally? Will I still get sponge baths?”

She manages a laugh at that. “Do not push your luck,” she says in a low voice, and to Varric it almost feels like normal.


	9. December 9th: Ice Skating (Formula One AU)

“Hot shot!”

She turns, a spray of ice as she comes to a perfect stop on the blades, the picture of ice skating perfection. Varric glares at her from across the rink, his hands still tight around the railing, knees unsteady as he shifts an inch forward.

She smiles, head tilting slightly. “What’s wrong, greasemonkey? You are usually so good with balance.”

“That,” he reminds her tersely as his hands shift forward on the railing another inch, “is the balance of a well-tuned automobile. My own personal balance when supported by two razor blades poised over a sheet of ice… not so good.” He jerks forward again, another inch, and curses loudly.

She had hired the small rink out just for the two of them - romantic, he supposes, for people who could keep their balance. Still, he is glad there are no gawking crowds to watch him fail so pathetically at the simplest of tasks.

She glides over to him, hands behind her back as she comes up alongside him and stops once more. “I was referring to your balance when you have me precariously bent over various things,” she points out with a wry smile, offering her hand.

He cannot quite maintain the scowl. “Shut up, hot shot.”

“Come. Let me help.”

He hesitates, before one hand flies from the railing to clamp around hers. “Don’t let go.”

“I do not think I can,” she laughs, flexing her fingers slightly to encourage him to ease up. “You are trying to keep your weight on both feet and move. You cannot do both. Lean on me.”

His other hand whips around to cling to her arm, and he swallows. “Why did I let you talk me into this again?”

“I did no such thing,” she laughs, “I merely suggested it and you jumped at the chance to try and outshine me.”

“I’m a fucking _idiot_.”

“Nonsense. Push with your right foot, and put your weight on your left.”

Together, they move further than he has managed on his own. “Shit. Shit. I’m gonna fall.”

“I have you, Varric. Now move your weight over, and push with your left.”

“I’m gonna fall. Shit, let go, I’m gonna -”

“Trust me,” she murmurs, and he manages a quick glance up at her before a sharp nod. “Push with your left. Keep your weight moving, and take it slow.”

He lets go of her arm, swinging back over to help keep his balance, though his hand remains tightly in hers. Each step is shaky, but to his surprise he remains upright and mobile.

“See? You are fine,” she smiles, keeping in step with him. “Give it an hour, and you will be dancing circles around me.”

“Funny,” he huffs. “When did you learn this?”

“As a child. My uncle had an estate with a lake, and every year it would freeze over completely.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It was, I suppose. I have few happy memories, but that is one of them.” She wiggles her fingers. “Ready to try letting go?”

“ _No!_ ” His hand tightens around hers, and she laughs. “Shut up! You wouldn’t drive without a greasemonkey, it’s the same principle!”

“Varric, I am hardly going to change your oil,” she drawls.

“Just… don’t let go, alright?”

Her fingers squeeze his gently. “As if I could,” she says fondly, kissing his brow before leading him around the rink once more.


	10. December 10th: Frost (tea shop AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek at a forthcoming AU! It must be the holidays!

The Blooming Rose Tea Shop and Bakery is a quiet sort of place, hidden away in a side-street far away from all the coffee shops and delis. You might be forgiven for thinking it could not possibly make enough turnover to stay open, for at any one time the place would look all but deserted from the outside.

But step inside and the true magic is revealed - there is a warmth to chase away the seasonal frost here, a warmth that reminds you of home, your _real_ home, the place where safety and love can be found. The smell of the bread oven, the soft ticking of the gas hobs on which the tall woman behind the counter is already boiling fresh water for your drink, the broad chuckle of the dwarf offering patrons fresh samples of his latest creations… there is magic in the air here, and you find yourself wanting to come back already.

*

It is early. 4am early, to be precise, and as much as he chose the life of a baker, Varric still struggles with coherent thought at this hour. He shuffles through from the bathroom, hands fumbling as they wrestle with the tie that would keep his hair back for the majority of the morning.

Downstairs, the door to the shop clicks, and he grunts, pulling on pants and socks. _Mornings_. If you could call it that, of course, when the sun was not yet near rising. He slips into shoes and stomps down the stairs, pushing open the door to the shop’s store-room.

“You should -” He clears his throat, trying again. “You should be in bed.”

The click of the gas is her only reply, and he moves through to the front of the shop, coming around the counter and sitting on the high stool closest to the percolator.

Cassandra moves with enviable grace around the small space, and it does not take long for a cup of steaming coffee to be slid across to him, her gentle smile as their hands bump the perfect accompaniment to the drink.

“Good morning,” she murmurs.

“It is now,” he agrees, catching her fingers and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You don’t have to do this, though.”

“You tell me every morning.”

“And I mean it every morning.”

“And yet here I remain.” She leans in, smirking. “What do that tell you, dwarf?”

“That you’re terrible at taking my advice.” He sips at his coffee, letting out a satisfied noise. “That’s _good_.”

“It is always good.”

“That it is.” He smiles at her. “It tells me that I am the luckiest man awake at this miserable hour, because a woman loves me enough to make sure I’m at least semi-functioning before she lets me switch on the oven.”

She laughs, squeezing his hand gently. “Close enough.”

“How did we do yesterday?”

“Well enough that you should put the pumpkin bread on the menu for the next few weeks. Dorian in particular enjoyed the flavour.”

He grins. “Knew he would.”

“He also told me to remind you that sometimes the best things in life are right under your nose.”

“Is our philosophical friend alluding to the idea that we are not romantically involved again?”

“Of course he is. He has money on an eventual spring wedding.”

“Such a shame.” He sips his coffee. “It _was_ spring, as it happens.”

She smiles, blushing as he turns her hand over and kisses her wrist. “It was.” Her free hand reaches up to the thin chain around her neck, the rings that hung from it touched almost reverently.

“Do you remember why?”

“Because then our marriage would always be summer-time. One of your more poetic ideas.”

He laughs, a soft huff against her skin. “Well, it’s winter outside, and yet I feel decidedly warm sat here with my wife. I think you’ll find my poetic idea is correct.”

She leans over the counter, pulling him into a gentle kiss before patting his cheek. “Start the oven, my love,” she murmurs. “We open in 4 hours.”


	11. December 11th: Eggnog (The Seeker AU)

They take a case, because there is no shortage of demand around Satinalia. People went missing, for whatever reasons, and the desperate would turn to the Seeker in the hopes of finding their loved ones - or at least some answers.

Cassandra _wants_ to help. The city is miserable enough, and she wants to change that. Varric agrees, surprisingly, and so she finds herself sat in the front seat of a rental car, watching a motel from across two parking lots, waiting for a young man to appear so that they can tell his mother that he is alright.

It is a sad state of affairs. But then, she supposes, it is Kirkwall. And her. She wonders if the black cloud will ever lift from her shoulders.

She is jolted from reverie with a cup of something… strange.

“Here.” Varric’s voice is gruff as he slides into the car.

“What is this?”

“Eggnog.”

She sniffs it cautiously. “But what _is_ it?”

He chuckles. “Just try it.”

“I do not trust things that are such a… bland colour.”

“It’s a Satinalia tradition. Hawke’s mother used to make it, but nowadays we just get it from a carton.”

She shifts slightly in her seat, drawing her feet up to the dash. “Who is Hawke?”

“Friend of mine. I used to run with her, but since the city fell to shit we haven’t worked together. She’s… a little explosive,” he adds, smiling, “but she’s good people.”

She takes a cautious sip of the drink, a surprised noise escaping her. “You said egg -”

He chuckles. “Yeah. That’s what Hawke said too.”

She watches him out of the corner of her eye. Varric was a strange individual, all in all - he always seemed to anticipate her mood, always knew what to say to bring her back from the darkness. She was not quite sure how he always just _knew_ , but she was… glad, that he did.

And he was kind - Maker, but he was so _kind!_ She was quite sure she had never met another soul so patient with her, even before the fall of the Order. She had stumbled into his life and been sharp and angry, and he had picked her up from the floor and given her purpose again.

She owed him everything, she realises.

Her heart skips.

Swallowing, she shakes that thought from her mind. It would not do to linger on impossible dreams. And besides, after losing Galyan… no, she would not lose anyone else. She could not suffer the heartache again. Varric was a good man, and he deserved better from her - as a friend, as a partner.

“Heads up.”

She turns to follow his gaze, and smiles slightly as a slight elf emerges into the bleak daylight from the motel.

“It looks like we will have good news to report.”

Varric smiles grimly. “Merry fucking Satinalia indeed, Seeker.”


	12. December 12th: Cider (silver in twilight AU)

Varric holds her hand as they walk through the city streets, smiling up at her.

“You’re here. You really - _whoa_ -”

Her fingers tighten around his as he trips on the cobbles, keeping him on his feet. “Be careful, my love. I did not come all this way to watch you break your neck.” But her smile is equally bright behind the scarf covering her face. “Perhaps I should have written, but I admit I was more preoccupied with seeing you.”

“Fine by me.” He grins, before leading her towards his home - no, he thinks, their home. He was not going to let her out of his sight whilst she was here.

* * *

 

She tells him to bathe, the remnants of sticky fingers and the children’s treats clinging to his skin, and promises to have the fire made by the time he returns. Pottering upstairs, Varric wonders idly how long he has with her. She had visited before, a few days at a time, but he had accompanied her back as far as Orlais. That had been tiring, and he is reluctant to consider when she might once again be leaving his reach. He was, in truth, too old to be following her across the world.

He comes back downstairs to find a roaring fire and his Seeker sat on the hearth, pouring warm cider from the pot she had stowed by the flames.

“What’s this?” he asks, smiling as he stoops to kiss her temple. The sweet smell of the hot drink hits his senses, and the smile widens. “Are you trying to liquor me up, Seeker?”

It might be the heat of the flames, but he could have sworn she blushes at the comment. “No,” she says automatically, before correcting herself. “Perhaps a little.” She rises from the hearth, and they sit side by side, sinking into the warm comforts of the chairs.

His hand finds hers, marvelling at the feel of her skin now the gloves were off. “Why?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you liquoring me up? I thought we were past pretense.”

She swallows, putting her mug down. “I… I have left the Order.” At his surprised expression, she smiles. “I think I would rather spend my remaining days with my loved ones than on the side of a mountain waiting for death and the cold to claim me.”

“That… _shit_ , Cassandra, I don’t know if that’s really sad or really heartwarming.”

“A little of both, perhaps. I have spent most of my adult life putting my duties first. I would like to say I put my heart first once.”

He smiles, squeezing her hand. “Ah, come on. You always put your heart first, Cassandra. If you weren’t passionate about what you did, you wouldn’t be you.”

She shrugs lightly. “Still.”

“So what now? Are you…” He swallows. “I was about ask if you were going home, but I don’t even know where you consider home to _be_ , these days.”

“That is what I wanted to talk about. I… Varric, I am at something of a loose end. I do not have an estate to go back to in Nevarra, my uncle left everything to my cousins. And though Skyhold will always be dear to me, it is no place to retire.” Her hand tightens around his. “I thought… perhaps, if you did not object -”

He rises from the chair with enviable speed, kneeling before her and reaching up to force her gaze to meet his. “Here? You want to live here? With _me?_ ”

“I - yes, I would -”

“You want to - to spend your remaining days with me?”

She smiles, cupping his face in her hands. “I would like nothing more than to stay with you for the rest of my days.”

“You didn’t need to liquor me up for _that!_ ” he laughs.

“Then perhaps I need a more nefarious motive,” she teases.

“Might I recommend seduction? Very nefarious.”

“Oh, I did not need the cider for that either.” She pats her knee, and he smiles, rising up to settle in her lap. Warm, strong arms wrap around his waist. “I love you,” she murmurs, lips brushing against his neck. “You are my home. You, only you.”

He curls into her, head resting against hers. “Welcome home, Seeker.”


	13. December 13th: Peppermint (Inquisitor Varric AU)

“Does it hurt?”

Varric looks up at Hawke’s question. They had been travelling for three days, a quiet journey back towards Haven and the ruins of the Temple. Between the Starkhaven Guards and the silent Seeker, Varric had started to feel a little like a prisoner again.

But in truth, he could tell them all he wanted to go anywhere, and they would follow. It was a strange notion, one that sits awkwardly on his shoulders, and so he defers to Hawke as he once did. The guards were used to it, naturally - the wife of their Prince had proven her worth time and again - but if the Seeker is unhappy with the arrangement, she says nothing.

She is disarmingly _good_ at saying nothing, it seems.

“Varric.”

“Huh?”

“Your hand. Does it hurt?”

“Oh. Yeah, I suppose. On and off.”

“Good job you’re not left-handed.” She smirks. “Imagine accidentally opening a rift whilst you’re -”

“Is it me,” he says loudly, cutting her off, “or does this path look like the ideal place for an ambush?”

The guards bristle. The shrubs twitch.

He hates being right.

* * *

 

In the abandoned camp, they find supplies and a fire that is still burning, and they all agree that it is as good a place as any to rest for the night. Hawke’s attention is commanded by the missives flying in, and Varric finds himself sat in front of the fire, a little lonesome despite the bustle around him.

“Varric?”

He looks up from the flames to find the Seeker standing above him. “Oh, talking to me again, are we?”

She kneels beside him, holding her hand out. “May I?”

“What?”

“Your hand.”

He holds up the marked hand, shrugging before letting her hold it. “If you wanted to hold my hand, you could have just - oh.”

She wipes his palm gently with a damp cloth, the smell of peppermint filling the space between them, and it soothes the twinges. She looks up to him for confirmation.

“That’s… what _is_ that?”

Smiling gently, she continues to tend to him, soft touches and soothing balm as she talks. “You said… you said it hurts sometimes, earlier, and it made me think of how we sometimes treat wounds we cannot close. There are things to be done for them, sometimes. It is not much, but I thought it might help.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and realises it is the first time he has said as much.

In the firelight, she looks different. She looks tired. He wonders if he looks the same.

“Varric, I… I am -”

“Well, well,” drawls Hawke, and Varric does not need to see her to know that her smirk would be a mile wide. Cassandra stiffens, and whatever moment they were having is lost. “I _knew_ you just wanted to get him alone.”

“I -”

“Hawke, c’mon. Don’t be an ass.” Varric pulls his hand away, ignoring the feeling in his stomach - guilt, probably. It usually was. “Thanks, Seeker, it really did help.”

“Whilst you’re here, you might as well know - we’re taking a detour to Crestwood. I have a friend who needs our help.”

“Crestwood?” The Seeker frowns. “Who?”

Hawke crouches by the fire, and Varric can feel her reluctance. “A Grey Warden by the name of Stroud. Don’t worry, shouldn’t take long.”

The Seeker says nothing more, retreating from them into her tent. Varric watches her leave, before turning back to Hawke. “Uh-huh. And what does he need help with?”

Her eyes meet his, and that creeping sense of unease only grows. “We think… the Wardens are dying.”


	14. December 14th: Gingerbread (Repercussions AU)

_The wolves howl, and Varric runs - he is always running, always trying to escape them, he needs sanctuary, he needs to fly away, he needs a hawk -_

He wakes with a jerk, grasping at the sheets, and the dream slips through his fingers like smoke, leaving only the vague unease that he was still trying to get used to. Running a hand over his face, he takes a deep breath.

It had been nearly twenty years since the dreams had come, but they still had the ability to take him by surprise. He does not linger on them, knows all too well the folly of trying to make sense of such images. Instead he grounds himself, closing his eyes and focusing on the feel of the sheets beneath his fingers, the sounds of activity in the house, the smell of -

His eyes open. The smell of gingerbread?

Padding down the stairs, he comes across a curious scene - his children sat at the table in the small kitchen, surrounded by mountains of cooling gingerbread loaves. Ilsa, the youngest, sits in Anthony’s lap, gently bouncing as she waves a spoon aloft.

“What happened in here?”

Anthony scrunches up his face. “Father,” he says, that choice of word and tone indicating his displeasure already, “put a shirt on.”

Varric laughs, hands on hips as he thrusts his chest out. “I have nothing to be ashamed of,” he replies.

Cassandra comes into the kitchen from the garden, a soft smile on her face as she regards her husband. “Varric,” she admonishes. “Are you embarrassing our children without me?”

He grins, taking her hand. “Forgive me, wife. Would you catch me? I feel a swoon coming on.”

“ _Da_ ,” groans Anthony. But it is too late as Varric affects a faint and Cassandra dips him, pressing soft noisy kisses to his lips. In her brother’s arms, Ilsa laughs melodically as Anthony makes disgusted noises.

Varric’s arms wrap around Cassandra’s neck, pulling her into a softer lingering kiss. “Good morning,” he murmurs against her lips.

“Sleep well, my love?”

“All the better for waking.” He rightens, stealing one more kiss before pottering through to greet the children. “My only son! And my darling youngest!” He scoops Ilsa from her brothers arms, peppering her with soft kisses that she squeals at. “Where’s the eldest?”

“Out with Aunt Hawke, of course. They’re never around these days.”

“Well, more gingerbread for us, then.” He reaches out for a slice of the cooling cake, but a spoon raps across his knuckles.

“This is for the Guild,” says Cassandra primly.

“It’s gingerbread, Seeker. They’re _dwarves_.”

“Exactly.” There is a fierce look in her eyes. “Let them remember whose wife they scorned last year, and whose support they will need in the upcoming elections.”

He laughs, rich and loud. “You devious woman.”

She tosses him a wink, before tutting. “Anthony, my darling, you cannot meet Fenris looking like _that_. Go and change.”

“Ilsa made a mess of it!”

“Do not blame your sister, she is barely three.”

Varric sits, his youngest in his lap playing with his fingers, and closes his eyes. Nothing was more grounding than his family around him, and nothing was more precious.


	15. December 15th: Presents (Worth Keeping AU)

“Come on, Seeker!”

She grumbles, shuffling in from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee. “Varric, it is too early for this level of enthusiasm.”

“It’s Satinalia,” he points out, grinning up at her from his spot by the small tree. “It’s _never_ too early to be excited for presents.”

“This coming from the man who said I did not need to get him anything this year,” she points out _sotto voce_. His grin simply widens, before holding up a carefully wrapped gift to her.

“Come on. Start opening things.”

She has to admit, watching him tear into boxes with his infectious grin, that he had a point. She is surprised to find her own gifts, heart warming at the familiar handwriting on the tags. The hand-knitted scarf adorned with bees makes her laugh, and the wine from Cullen is something of a mystery until Varric points out that it was the drink served at her funeral.

“We had to drink this,” she reads aloud from the tag, “so now it is your turn. Glad you are back. Regards, Cullen.”

Varric laughs for ten minutes.

Eventually they work their way through the pile, finding an unlabelled box. Cassandra holds it aloft, surprised at its lightness.

“Who is this for?”

He shrugs, pulling on the knitted hat from Sera. “Dunno. Open it.”

She tugs on the string, peeling back the paper and opening the box to reveal - another box. She frowns, looking up. He shrugs again, and she lifts the box out, opening it and finding yet another box.

“This is ridiculous.”

“No kidding.”

The third box gives way to another and another, and Cassandra rather thinks there must be nothing in any of them. At the sixth box, Varric stops her.

“I know who this one’s from.” And he takes the box from her.

“Who?”

He opens the hinged box carefully, before presenting the ring to her with a smile. “Me.”

“Varric -”

“I know you’re not - look, I know you’re not _going_ anywhere. I know that. But I… I want you to not go anywhere with me.”

Her hand comes up to cover her mouth. “ _Oh_ -”

“Don’t cry, Seeker, it’s Satinalia and you’re not dead. Crying’s not allowed.” He tilts his head gently. “Marry me?”

“Oh, _Varric_. Oh.” She pulls him into a tight hug, her face buried into the crook of his neck. “I love you. I love you so much.”

His arms wrap around her. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” she laughs, “ _yes_ , I want to marry you, you idiot!”

“Now now,” he teases, pulling back to rest his forehead against hers, “is that any way to talk to your future husband?”

_Future husband_. Fresh tears threaten to fall at the very words, and she swallows before sticking her tongue out in retaliation. He laughs, before taking her hand and sliding the ring onto her finger.

“Best present you could have given me,” he murmurs.

“Should I return all the others, then?”

“Hey now, I never said _that_ ,” he says hastily, and she laughs, her hand tight in his and her heart fit to burst.


	16. December 16th: Fireplace (The Seeker AU)

Varric kicks in the door of their office, swearing up a storm as he carries the Seeker in, leaving a trail of small puddles in their wake.

“Stupid - so bloody _stupid_ -”

She remains still in his arms, too weak to even shiver. Her skin is a frightening shade of blue.

“Eris!”

The innkeeper comes in with an armful of logs, dumping them into the basket by the fire. She hoists the woman from his arms, whisking her off to rid her of the sodden clothes, leaving him shivering and bereft.

It had been his fault. Just get a little closer, he had said, the pictures have to be clear - and then the jetty had collapsed and she had gone straight through the ice. He had almost lost her, and he barely knows her. They had not yet truly begun to trust one another, after all. His fault. All his fault. He had to do better by her. She deserved better.

He is stirred from his thoughts by the crack of the fire. No time to feel guilty - she was still alive, and that was important. Dragging the old copper bathtub out, he half fills it with water before stripping down himself.

Eris returns, the Seeker carefully placed into the tub before the older woman drapes a sheet to cover her modesty.

“She'll be alright,” she murmurs.

“I know.”

“Drink?”

“Leave the bottle. She'll need it.”

He does not know quite how long he sits with her in front of the fire, watching the colour of her skin change, stoking the fire when it needs it and shivering when the draught from the door picks up, but it is almost light when her eyes flutter open.

“ _Nng_ -”

“For the record,” he says softly, “this is _not_ how I wanted us to spend Satinalia.” She turns to watch him, and he avoids her eyes as he continues. “Eris got a decent nug to cook, and I bought enough whiskey so that we wouldn't realise how bad she is at cooking -”

“Varric?”

“Instead I almost get you killed. Pisspoor show, even for me.”

“ _Varric_.”

“And don't give me that “ooh I'm fine” bullshit. Your heart rate is too slow and the shivers are back. You could still -”

“How do you know my heart is slow?”

“I just _do_.”

A soft splash as she struggles to sit up and preserve her dignity under the sheet hanging over the tub. “You just _do_. You just _know_ a lot of things, it seems.”

He sighs, rolling his shoulders. He was not about to get into the finer points of his Gift tonight, not after a hellish day. “Yeah, I do.”

He can feel her gaze on him. And then her hand reaches out to hold his, and he looks up into her eyes - _Cassandra’s_ eyes, he realises, not the Seeker’s. Not here, in this place between living and the cold.

“Satinalia is not over, is it?” At his silence, she smiles. “We can still make something of it, surely?”

He is tired, and she is not out of the woods yet. But despite it, he summons a smile.

“Yeah, I guess we can.”


	17. December 17th: Stocking (This Goes Up To Eleven AU)

The cabin was a brilliant idea, Varric decides.

In fact, perhaps his greatest idea ever. And not because of the roaring real wood fire, which is wonderful. Not because of the snow falling outside, providing atmosphere. No, it is the greatest idea ever because his very attractive girlfriend thinks it is the greatest idea ever and is thus extremely grateful.

So grateful, in fact, that she is wearing something a little… festive as an early Christmas present. And Varric is finding it very difficult to remember what on earth he got for her.

“Do you like your present?” she murmurs, standing above him and leaning forward, the red coat lined with very fluffy white fur.

He leans forward in the chair, nodding, one hand reaching out to pull her closer - but she steps back, the blush in her cheeks bright as she smiles.

“Would you like to unwrap it?”

“Seeker, I would like to do a _lot_ of things right now.”

“Varric…”

“Fine, fine. Yes, I would very much like to unwrap it.”

She lets her arms drop to her sides, and he reaches out to tug on the belt of the coat, letting it fall - _oh_.

Well.

Cassandra is wearing _stockings_.

Cassandra, his actual real girlfriend who might actually be too good to be true,  is wearing stockings and very little else.

“Ngh,” says Varric very eloquently, swallowing as he drinks in the sight.

She steps out of the small puddle of coat, hips swinging as she stands above him. “Do you like it?” she asks quietly.

“Ha,” he manages, nodding again.

She straddles his lap, arms draping over his shoulders as her lips ghost over his. “Do you want to fuck me?” she breathes, hips rocking against his jeans.

“Fuh,” he gasps, hands coming up to her waist and pulling her against him.

She smiles, the most enchanting and beautiful smile he has ever seen. “Varric?”

“Mm.”

“You are usually very good with words.”

He pretends to consider this for a moment, thumb trailing over her hip. “You, uhm. Blood gone, from the brain, see. Your fault.”

She laughs, and his heart melts. “I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate you. I have… I have had the most _amazing_ year of my life since I met you at the barriers in Nevarra City, and I still cannot quite believe it all.” Her fingers are gentle on the back of his neck. “To have met you, to have fallen in love with you, to be here with you now… a gift, better than anything else.”

He swallows, forehead resting against hers. “Cassandra…”

“And I thought stockings were an appropriate way to thank you,” she adds with a wry smirk, and he laughs.

“I like the way you think,” he murmurs, closing the gap and finally, finally, kissing her deeply as his hands wander and they lose themselves to passion.

* * *

 

Under the tree, a small box with her name on. Silver, of course, but not jewellery. The key was a token, in truth, the gift much bigger.


	18. December 18th: Cookies (tea shop AU)

It is a Thursday.

Quiet, even for a Thursday, but Cassandra does not mind, leaning on the counter watching a small huddle of people shuffle past the window in search of refuge elsewhere.

“Cretins,” mutters Bianca, and Cassandra smiles.

“They prefer coffee, clearly.”

“You serve coffee here.”

“Only occasionally. And Varric usually insists on doing it in case I have flashbacks and start barking out words like ‘venti’ and ‘half soy’.”

Bianca laughs. “He might have a point.”

“You _would_ say that.”

Thursdays meant no Varric, which invariably meant that nothing was fresh from the oven, so many of the regulars looked to less out-of-the-way establishments. Thankfully, Varric’s absence meant that Bianca would spend most of the day hanging out with Cassandra at work, catching up on gossip and telling her about her own business ventures in business refits.

“I mean, it's not like I couldn't _use_ the extra help,” she admits, shrugging as Cassandra pours from the pot. “But apprenticeship wages are so low.”

“You can make up the difference, though. It is not a legal issue.”

“Yes, but then I might as well hire _anyone_.”

“Their training alongside the practical work is very good. I would not discount it.”

She smiles slightly. “How do you know so much?”

“The area manager at Val Royeaux suggested we hire apprentices to save on labour costs. The qualification was barely worth it there, though, and the idea did not take off.”

“Mm.” She chews her lip, considering it.

In the lull, the door opens, and Cassandra smiles wide as Cullen all but tumbles in.

“Commander.”

He grimaces. “Still?”

“Always. Usual?” She is already moving, finding him a fresh pot and his preferred blend.

“Yeah, please. And can you tell Varric I -”

“Thursday,” she chimes, and he groans, resting his head on the counter. “I can put one in the microwave to warm it slightly, if you like.”

“It’s not the same,” he mumbles against the wood.

Bianca watches the whole act with a wry smile. “Why don’t you put the oven on and just warm it up in there?” she suggests.

Cullen laughs, a harsh noise, and Cassandra rolls her eyes as she brings the tea over to him. “I would not know how.”

“So you don't bake?”

“Not at all,” laughs Cassandra. “I am extraordinarily bad at it.”

“Remember the cookies?” says Cullen with a shudder.

“Oh, Maker. I _try_ to forget.”

His hands wrap around the cup as he regards Bianca. “She made cookies, the first year we were friends.”

“I thought he was going to write me off there and then.”

“Thankfully she bullied Varric into making some for me, and the rest is history, I suppose.” He smiles fondly up at her. “Even if she’s useless at baked goods.”

“My lamb tagine was the talk of second year,” she reminds him, and he laughs.

“That it was.”

“You knew Varric, even back then?” Bianca laughs. “I’m surprised our paths didn’t cross sooner.”

“It was hardly a friendship. We shouted a lot at each other. Then again, I shouted a lot, I suppose.”

Cullen snorts, and Cassandra reaches over to smack his arm.

“ _You_ deserved it,” she adds. “Now, do you want the cookie or not?”

“Better to have a sub-par cookie than none at all,” advises Bianca.

He pulls a face, but nods, and Cassandra smiles as she pops the plate into the microwave.


	19. December 19th: Santa (Crowd Pleaser AU)

_“And the crowd are really behind the Inquisitor on this one! He might be down, but he certainly isn’t out!”_

The live feed from the ring was compelling viewing, but then again Trevelyan always was. Varric adjusts the false beard, regretting - and not for the first time - agreeing to wear it. It was a cheap bit, in truth - a dwarf dressed up as Santa, it was childish. But he could pull it off better than most, and his enthusiasm for the crowd made it a winning formula. He was not to wrestle tonight, but being able to make an appearance was enough.

“Varric?”

He smiles slightly at the sound of her voice. He had not seen Cassandra since their chance meeting four months ago, but she had taken his advice to heart and appealed to the crowd more than a handful of times. She was by no means the fan favourite, but her following grew every day.

“Ho ho ho, Seeker, and what do _you_ want for…”

His voice trails off as he turns, taking in the sight of Cassandra in gold lame hot pants and a skimpy green and red shirt. The ensemble is finished with elf boots and a crown of tinsel, and a rather tired looking scowl.

“Very funny. How did they rope you into this?”

“Huh?”

“How did they convince you to dress up?”

“They didn’t.”

She stares at him, arms crossed. “Really.”

“Really. I volunteered. It’s a laugh, you know? And,” he adds, adjusting the beard again, “the only way I was gonna get screen-time tonight. I’m still not allowed in the ring -”

“Oh, your shoulder. How are you doing?”

“Better. I was in the gym today and it’s looking good.”

She smiles. “Good. I am glad to hear it.”

He grins, folding his arms and leaning against the door-frame. “So how did they get you?”

Cassandra turns red - a sight he never thought he would see in his life. Gone are the stern lines of her shoulders, the straight back, replaced by what Varric can only call embarrassment.

“I would rather not say.”

“Ah, come on, Seeker.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “Just us here, you can tell me.”

She cringes, looking away. “Varric -”

“Is it because your guy’s out there?”

She stops, frowning slightly as she meets his eyes. “My… guy? Oh, Trevelyan? We are not - we have never been together.”

Varric’s eyebrows disappear off the top of his head. “ _Really?_ ”

“Truly. He came to me for advice after Justinia passed - his sister was in the crash too. We mourned, and we moved on. But nothing more.” She pulls a face. “He is a child, and yet the network might still write us as lovers… ugh. No.”

“Huh.” He smiles slightly. “So would it be inappropriate to ask for your number?”

She blushes again - and _oh_ , now the penny drops, and his smile widens.

“You agreed to do this to see _me?_ ”

“Yes - no! I mean -”

“Use your words,” he teases, laughing, and she scowls again.

“It is not like that! I simply… I wanted to thank you. For your advice, that time we met. It was important to me.”

He tugs the beard down to rest around his neck, before reaching for her hand and pulling her close. “Think nothing of it,” he says softly. “You’re doing great.”

She squeezes his fingers gently. “Thank you. You are always so kind.”

“I try to be. This job’s hard enough.”

She nods, the blush lingering, and he tilts his head slightly.

“Sure it was just to say thank you? Because when we were wrestling, I -”

She ducks her head to kiss him, silencing him completely as her lips meet his. He lets out a surprised noise before his arms wrap around her waist, pulling her in closer. Her hands bury in his hair, lips parting at his moan, and Varric wants more, wants to hear her moan, wants -

**_Knock knock_**.

“Varric! Three minutes!” comes the voice of his aide. As if she had been shocked, Cassandra pulls away, putting distance between them, and he sags against the doorframe.

“Yeah, uh… be out in one,” he calls back, before looking up at the woman picking white fluff from her front.

“That beard - ugh, _everyone_ will know -” She stops, and Varric rather fancies the gleam in her eye as she smiles, hands stilling. “Everyone will _know_ ,” she repeats.

“Is that okay?” he asks, and she hesitates.

“It… yes. I am not ashamed. Is it… okay with you?”

He grins, nodding. “Hell of a way to rewrite the network’s script,” he drawls, before she pulls him close once more and kisses him again.


	20. December 20th: Sled (First of Her Name AU)

Snow comes to Nevarra, and Varric wonders where his wife is.

Oh, he _knows_ \- her letters are frequent, full of cheer and good wishes from the Inquisitor and the advisors. But he misses the sound of her laugh, the touch of her hand. He misses her presence, strong and immovable, and he knows not when she will return.

Court life continues, and in her stead he has kept the masses happy - with varying degrees of success. He had tried to keep a bright disposition, but the nobles barely took him seriously and it was not until he had shouted, cold and biting, that some semblance of order had followed.

He had hated it. Too much like his father.

He stops the familial comparisons there. 

He tries not to drown his misery in ale and spirits, but a warming brandy on a cold night did wonders. He nurses the glass, staring into the fire, and rereads his wife's words.

_Soon, my love, soon I will come back to you. We will come back to you._

“When?” he murmurs, swallowing the lump in his throat.

* * *

 

The court meets to hear petitions, Varric’s favourite job. The people’s problems are often easy to fix, and a little kindness went a long way. But there are strange reports of a mysterious traveller in the lands, and the tall tales are a little too much for him today.

“So you mean to say that someone is freely crossing the land - how?”

The man shifts awkwardly. “On a sled, sire. Like Papa Satinalia himself, they say. And everywhere it goes, the people are left with a happiness -”

“A sled.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “A _sled_ came all the way from the border unchecked. _Really_.”

“Not entirely,” says a familiar voice, “but my papers are _impeccable_.”

He looks up, eyes wide, as his wife sweeps into the room, a smile on her lips and a brightness in her eyes that he had sorely missed.

“Rainier made it for me,” she adds, “to make it easier to travel over the next few months, because he knew I would not elect to stop.”

“Man has a point,” Varric says, grinning as she approaches the throne. “Can I step down now? This seat’s a little too high for me.”

She laughs. “From what I hear, you have risen to the occasion admirably. The people love you.”

“Well, they have to say that to you, I imagine.”

“Perhaps,” she concedes, before clapping her hands. “We shall adjourn for now, but I will hear your claims in the afternoon.”

The crowd disperse, and it is only when they are alone that he lets his shoulders relax once more. She smiles, arms out wide, and he throws himself into her embrace.

“Hello, husband.”

“You were missed,” he murmurs, “quite terribly. It was - _oh_.” He pulls back, staring at her stomach. “Did it just -”

“She has become quite active since I told her we were coming home.”

He smiles up at her, before resting a hand on the bump, rewarded with another kick. “Oh. Oh, that's _strange_. Hello.” He stops. “A girl?”

“I think so. Cole thinks so, too. Our friends missed you, my love, and I missed you.”

Her hand cups his cheek, and he hums at her warmth. “You're home,” he murmurs. “Home and whole.”

“My love, my heart.” She kisses his brow. “I will _always_ come home to you.”

“I know, but…” He smiles up at his wife, his queen. “It's still nice when you do.”


	21. December 21st: Snow Man (escort AU)

The volunteer work had started out as an obligation - her company committed several thousand hours of manpower to charities every year as a pay-it-forward pledge - but Cassandra grew to love her Thursday evening duty in a way she could seldom explain, and rarely did. Even Varric did not know the details, their lives still separate even after so many months.

It made sense, of course - both independent people with different activities - but it had been a strange realisation for Cassandra, who had grown up on the perfect romances of books and the silver screen. She had struggled with their relationship for many months, trying to marry her ideals of romance with the reality of dating an escort. Love had, of course, eventually won out. But it was a hard-fought victory.

She ponders this as she hangs up the phone, another happy soul in the world as she jots down a few notes for future reference. The outreach centre was small - only seven telephone operators for the Satinalia ‘rush’ - but they genuinely helped people. It was good work, being able to listen to people who had nobody else. Cassandra remembers that feeling all too well.

The phone chirrups, and she lifts the receiver from the cradle.

“Twine Outreach. How are you today?”

A heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “I'm alright.” Her throat tightens. Varric? But before she can flag up a conflict of interests, he starts talking again.

“So it's that time of year. I don’t know if I spoke to you last year, but… I’m not lonely. I just hate the snow.” A huff of a laugh, humourless. “Shit, I _really_ hate the snow.”

She hesitates, but the question slips past her lips. “Why?”

“It happened when I was a boy.” She hears him shift the phone in his hand. “My brother and I were… trying to be good. Mostly. There was a cave, rumours of hidden treasures within… our father liked that sort of thing. We wanted to be good dwarven sons for once. So we went in.”

She bites her lip, trying to imagine Varric and his brother - _he had a brother?_ \- small dwarven boys. She wonders if he might ever have told her this story willingly.

“I got stuck. Snowed in. My brother went and got help, but… when you’re a kid, time works differently. It _felt_ like days.” He takes a deep breath, and with it she can hear the weight of it all. “But it wasn’t. I was fine. Everyone had a good laugh about the Snow Man, and we all got on with our lives. That’s what we did. That’s what people _do_. You just… move on. Except I couldn’t. I wanted to talk about it. I wanted someone to understand how scared I was, how alone I was… but nobody listened. Nobody _ever_ listens.”

She swallows, her hands gripping the phone tightly.

“So I decided to listen. Because _someone_ needs to. And why not me? I know what it’s like to be overlooked. So I started listening - to my friends, to my family, but then to… to strangers. I suppose we’re the same, in that regard, except I’m not quite as honourable as you. I get paid for it. And there’s other elements to it, but… the listening is important. Nobody stops to listen. They’ll tell you that it was better in their day, that the younger generation lost it, but the truth is that nobody ever did.”

“But _you_ do.”

“Yeah. And so do you. And I want you to know that it’s _good_ , what you do. You’re doing something important, and you probably don’t get enough appreciation for it. So… that’s why I call, every year. My little Satinalia admission.”

She smiles, closing her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Anyway, I should -”

“Wait!” The silence on the other end hangs, and she clears her throat. “There is something you should know.”

“Cassandra?”

“What you do… every day, all of it. It is important too.” She closes her eyes. “For a very long time, I did not think so, and I am sorry for that. I did not understand. But the relief you bring to people is important, and I - I am proud of you, I suppose. I know you do not need it, but I feel it anyway.”

She hears him swallow. “Thank you,” he murmurs, and the smile is evident in his voice.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. We still on for tomorrow night?”

She laughs. “Of course.”

“You can tell me all about your volunteer work.”

“If you like.”

“Good.”

“Now, sir,” she says, straightening her back, “would you mind rating your service with us tonight?”

He laughs, a rich noise down the phone. “Sure. Ten out of ten, would definitely call again.”


	22. December 22nd: Jingle Bells (Formula One AU)

His hand is still in hers as they walk through the car park in the dark, grip gentler now as he hums a Christmas song.

“Snowin’ and blowin’ up bushels of fun -”

She laughs as he pulls out the keys. “You sing a lot.”

“Huh?”

“I notice - when you work, the radio is on and you always sing along. Even if you do not know the words.”

He lets go of her fingers, coming around the car. “Do I? Never realised.”

“It is nice. You have a nice voice.”

“Oh, I already _knew_ you liked my voice, hot shot,” he laughs, throwing a wink as he unlocks the car. “What was it you said after you fucked my brains out?”

She blushes. “Shut up.”

“A voice you wanted to ride like an SP-300 R?”

_“Shut up!”_

He grins over the car. “You’re hot for me.”

She pulls a face, before getting in. “You are sleeping on the couch,” she grumbles.

“Only if you’ll sleep there with me.”

“ _Hmph_.” She makes to fold her arms, but his hand finds hers and he pulls her into a soft kiss, the feel of his lips lingering after he lets her pull away.

“Thanks. For today. It was nice.”

She smiles. “Even when you fell over?”

“Oh, _that_ was great, you bent over to see if I was alright and I could see right down your top,” he teases.

“Varric!”

“I’m kidding!”

“Hmph.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Mine.”

“Fair enough.” He smiles, pulling the car out of the lot. “Sing with me,” he murmurs. “Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock…”

She laughs, swaying as he sings, but shakes her head. “I am not gifted as you are.”

“ _Everyone_ can sing,” he counters.

“Varric -”

“Come on, hot shot. For me.”

She hums along, and he assumes that would be the end of it, tapping the wheel in time as he joins her. But then, determinedly staring out the window, the words come to her in a quiet shaky voice.

“That's the jingle bell rock…”

Varric holds his breath for a moment, as the wavering tune falters. And then he lets slip a chuckle.

“I _told_ you,” she points out.

“Sorry. No, it was lovely, really, just quiet.”

“Do not lie, I am awful at it.”

“No, it was good! You're just not confident because I put you on the spot.” One hand reaches to hold hers, squeezing lightly. “Sing with me.”

“No.”

“Hot shot -”

“I cannot sing, and that is fine.”

“Everyone can sing, just like everyone can skate. Sing with me. I've got you.”

She rolls her eyes, but sighs deeply. “Fine. _Once_.”

He pulls her hand up, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “That's my girl. Jingle bell, jingle bell…”


	23. December 23rd: Carols (Doctor Pentaghast AU)

Today. Today.

The sensation thrums in her chest, a nervous energy that terrifies and elates her. Varric was getting discharged today. Things were going to be… _normal_.

She swallows, tugging off her scrubs.

In truth, she worried - worried that they would not manage, that he would hold her distance up as evidence of her desire to leave, that she would be too skittish to ask him to stay. With the holidays fast approaching, she worried that the pressure would be too much for them. 

She worried a lot - and she knew it. But still, it came.

Offering up a quick prayer, she straightens her shirt. There was nothing to be done for it, other than to face the future head-on - and, she thinks with a hopeful smile, with Varric’s hand in hers.

The path to his room is well-worn, muscle memory would doubtless carry her there for a few weeks

“Varric, I -”

She stops in the doorway.

The sheets are fresh, crisp and tucked in with a precision she has come to respect from the nursing staff. The blind is pulled back, the dying light of the afternoon skirting the corners of the room. It is as if the room has never been used.

She turns her head to check the room number, but it is the right one. A sinking feeling fills her, and she steps into the room as if answers might lie there. He had gone - simply left, and she remained.

At the door, there is movement, and she swipes at the tears before turning to face it.

“I am sorry, I -”

In the doorway, a quartet of children beam up at her, before singing a carol - she had seen them around the wards over the past few weeks, singing to the patients who would be staying over the holidays, putting their donations into the tins that littered the hospital for various charities… they sang beautifully, and Cassandra finds herself a little breathless as they give their all to one of her favourite hymns.

So breathless, in fact, that she does not notice the dwarf emerging from the bathroom behind her until his hand slips into hers.

“Hey, Doc.”

She jumps, a gasp as she stumbles, and the children falter in their singing to giggle. “Varric! I thought -”

She stops, taking in the sight of him. He was clean-shaven - he was _clean_ , wearing a fresh shirt and dark trousers. She had almost forgotten just how good he could look, so used to his pyjamas she was.

“You look wonderful,” she says, smiling as she squeezes his fingers.

“I, uh… I wanted to look _right_ ,” he offers with a smile. “Normal again.”

“Varric -”

“Look, Doc - _Cassandra_ ,” he corrects, taking both her hands in his and looking up at her with wide eyes, “we’ve not had much of a chance so far. But I’m… I’m better, now. I’m alive and well, and I love you, and I _want_ this to work.”

“And I love you, Varric. I do, I truly do.”

“I know.” He smiles. “So, uh… want to go on a date with me?”

She laughs. “I would love that.”

“Now?”

“Now? But -”

“You’re off duty, and I’m starving. Can’t think of a better time to go and eat lobster and reacquaint myself with your smile,” he points out, and she can feel the blush in her face.

“Flatterer.”

“That’s me. So what do you say?”

“Yes. Yes, I would love to go on a date with you.”

He grins, pulling her in close. “Good. Do you want me to fuck you in the on-call room before or after?”

“Varric, the _children_ -”

“What children?”

She turns, and sure enough the doorway is empty. She glances back at Varric, her smile wry.

“Before. And then at my place, after. You need the exercise, after all. Doctor’s orders.”

He laughs, pulling her into a sweet kiss. “That’s medical advice I can get behind.”

“Oh, I rather hope so,” she drawls, before letting him lead her out the door.


	24. December 24th: Icicle (Inquisitor Varric AU)

The cold hits Haven overnight, and Varric wakes up shivering.

He walks through the small village wrapped up in layers of fur and hide, and Hawke bursts into laughter when she catches him almost waddling up the steps.

“Bit chilly for you?” she says sweetly, and he growls.

“Shut up, Hawke.”

“Where are you going, anyway? Cullen’s training, the ambassador’s busy - oh, you’re going to see the _Seeker_ ,” she says with a smirk.

He stops, rolling his eyes. “Alright. Come on, out with it.”

“What? I  didn’t say anything.”

“But you want to.” He fixes her with a look. “I _know_ you. Just say it and we can all get on with our lives.”

She sighs. “Okay, okay, fine. I just think you need to be careful with her, okay? With Bianca being around and everything still being fairly… _delicate_ , between you and Cassandra, I just think -”

“You think I like her.”

Hawke smiles gently. “Varric, my dearest friend. I _know_ you like her.”

He hesitates for a moment, before letting out a sigh. “I hate you,” he murmurs, but sits on the wall next to her.

“I know, pal.”

They sit in silence for a long moment.

“So.”

He shrugs. “Bianca and I… you know that’s over, right? Whatever it was before, it’s… not. Not any more. She’s here as a favour, sort of.”

“I thought so, but you know how rumours travel around here. The ambassador was having conniptions.”

“Soon as my bow’s fixed, she’ll be gone again. That’s just how she is.”

Hawke leans back on her hands. “And Cassandra?”

“I can’t tell her. You know that, right?” He smiles, though there is little humour in it. “This weather… this is _nothing_ compared to the icy glare of the Seeker.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“Maybe not now, but -”

“Varric, people who hate you don’t jump in front of a Nightmare demon to give you time to escape. They just don’t.” At his silence, she pushes on. “Look, I get it. Things have been frosty. But look up there.”

Varric follows her gaze to the icicles hanging from the roof of the tavern. “Ice.”

“Look closer.”

He does, frowning in confusion. “What -”

And then he sees it - the slow but sure drip of water falling from the icicles.

Hawke smiles, throwing an arm over his shoulder. “She’s warming up to you, Varric. Give her a little time. Winter’s always followed by spring.” She laughs. “And you know what spring brings.”

“What?”

“Fucking. Lots and lots of fucking.”

He groans, shoving her away. “Hawke.” But he cannot help the laugh that escapes him.

“I’m just saying, once we iron out this Corypheus nonsense, maybe you should talk to her. See what happens.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but from the front gates a shout goes up, demanding his attention. He sighs, hauling himself up.

“What now?”

“More soldiers from Adamant?” suggests Hawke, though Varric does not miss the look in her eyes as she rises.

A messenger runs up from the gates. “Ser!”

“Just Varric,” the dwarf sighs, the correction automatic. “Why do they _always_ call me that?”

“Perks of being the marked one, I suppose,” muses Hawke.

“Ser - I mean Varric - I mean - there’s a man at the gates, a mage, and another with a hat -” The messenger looks panicked, and Varric frowns. “They say they’re here to warn us of an army - a _huge_ army, templars and mages -”

“Alright, I’m coming. Get Curly and Ruffles, I’m sure Nightingale’s already on top of the situation.” He stops for a moment, before turning to Hawke. “Can you fetch the Seeker? She’ll want to know what’s going on.”

“Sure. This whole ‘army’ business is probably a misunderstanding anyway,” drawls Hawke, and Varric manages a smile at that before shuffling down the steps towards the main gates, hoping that her flippant comment was right...


	25. December 25th: Christmas Movies (The Seeker AU)

Their second Satinalia is a roaring success.

Varric hums as he tops up the Seeker’s mug with eggnog, an off-key hymn she pulls a face at, before settling on the couch next to her.

“Better?”

She nods, leaning into him as his arm rests over the tops of her shoulders. “Much.”

“Good. Now, we don’t have any traditions, _per se_ -”

“Apart from almost dying,” she drawls, recalling the previous year.

“Which is not a tradition I’d like to continue,” he points out. “So. What do you want to do this Satinalia evening?”

She considers this for a long moment, before sighing. “I do not mind. Are there any movies on?”

“Hundreds. Probably all terrible.” But he reaches for the remote anyway, hopping through the channels. “I don’t think I’ll last. I can feel the food coma already descending on me.”

She chuckles, her free hand resting against his stomach. “Poor thing.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Cassandra hums, before turning her attention back to the screen. “How about that one?”

“The heart-warming tale of a man who wants to kill himself but changes his mind when he realises that there’s more to life than death? Very Nevarran.” But he throws the remote to the other end of the couch, pulling her in tighter.

* * *

 

Surprisingly, she falls asleep first, one hand linked with his and the other splayed across his chest, legs curled up underneath her. Varric smiles as his thumb brushes over her knuckles, the movie long forgotten.

He loved her most like this - at peace. It was rare to see, even now. The responsibility of dealing with the red lyrium supplies had taken a toll on both of them, but he was glad she could still claim a fraction of sleep without a furrowed brow.

His lips graze her forehead. She does not stir.

“I love you,” he murmurs. “I love you _so_ much.”

On the screen, the main character laments over lost chances. Varric swallows.

“Hell of a year, Seeker.”

She sleeps on, and he rests his cheek against her head.

“Never thought we’d end up here. We got into a nice rhythm, you and me, solving cases and helping people, and then Curly showed up. Damn near lost my mind, ended up kissing you, broke your heart and almost lost you… all in the space of a month. And it’s been nonstop ever since.” He lets out a soft sigh. “Sorry about the red lyrium. That stuff makes me unworthy of you, and we keep having to go near it. And it’s my fault, and I’m sorry. If I’d just…”

She shifts slightly, but does not wake.

He smiles weakly. “I know. You’d strangle me for blaming myself again. I’m trying, I really am.” His fingers tighten around hers briefly. “I’ll always keep trying. I won’t let you down again. Not ever. You and me, we’re a team.”

Her lips press against the small patch of skin below his neck, and he closes his eyes.

“Always,” she whispers.

“Seeker -”

“It has been quite the year,” she agrees, pulling back to look into his eyes, her own still soft from sleep. “But I am glad we are here. Even if we have to suffer the effects of the red lyrium now and then… we get to come back home, _together_.” Her hand reaches up to cup his cheek. “That is _everything_ to me, Varric.”

“Cassandra -”

“I love you, you idiot.” She trails her finger over his lips. “Our tribulations are nothing compared to that fact.”

He presses a soft kiss to her lips, lingering for a moment before smiling down at her. “Your idiot,” he points out, and she grins, yanking him back into a longer kiss, all thoughts of sleep and the movie forgotten as her body presses up against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting, all of you. Your support of my ridiculous little stories and AUs has been ever a joy to me this year. I hope you are all happy, healthy and safe at this time of year, and that 2016 brings you strength and joy.


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